The Jazz Times
by Savage Bottany
Summary: In a dimension far, far away, the jazz beings are growing restless. The Shaman Council must solve the problem... But how? By sending Vince and Howard on their greatest (and only) jazz adventure, that's how!
1. Chapter 1

**I reckon I've got a story here! So do please enjoy, dearest reader. I mean, anything that kicks off with the Shaman Council can't be that bad, right?**

* * *

"Dennis?"

Dennis mumbled into his folded arms, still half-lost in his dream world. It was pleasant, warm, full of muted colours that didn't aggravate his wicked hangover.

"Dennis?"

His eyes fluttered open but he screwed them shut again. Pain needled at the back of his head.

"Dennis!"

Now he identified the voice. Tony Harrison. He had spiked the vodka last night, Dennis was sure of it. Why else would he have been dancing on that table-

"Dennis, you peacock berk! Wake up!"

-in the nude?

Wait, nude?

As in, naked?

With no clothes on?

_Nude_?

The thought jolted him upright, patting his body frantically. The feathery feel of his robe calmed him and he gazed around, momentarily dazzled by the brightness of the moon, illuminating the clearing. Confused, he gazed at his fellow shamans.

All at once, he remembered. He had woken that morning, nothing but a blanket draped over him, on Saboo's sofa. Six glasses of water and a Berocca later, he had taken the carpet home, swerving dangerously and almost colliding with countless south-bound birds. He had still been slightly drunk.

And yet, shamanic duties beckoned. In spite of his rapidly-worsening hangover, he had retrieved some new robes and headed to the Board's meeting place. Being the only one there, he had sent out several increasingly angry summons. Finally, they had turned up, ready to put weeks of planning into fruition.

Well...

Looking around, he saw his team were no better off than him. Some stared into the distance, rubbing their heads. Some drooled on the table, dozing, much as he had been doing. Tony sat beside a large glass of water, an incredibly long crazy straw looping toward his mouth. A pair of sunglasses concealed the majority of his face. In fact, the only one of them who seemed unaffected was Kirk, who was doing a kind of rave in his seat, arms working and head nodding to a beat only he could hear.

Again, the image of himself on that table flashed to the front of his mind. He winced.

"Dennis, snap out of it! Saboo's got the human," Tony called from beside him.

"Ah," said Dennis, coming back to himself as he remembered why they were there. "Bring him to me."

There came a rustling from the trees. Out of them stepped Saboo, looking, remarkably, no worse for wear. For a moment, all Dennis could see was the man downing six shots of Sambuca in quick succession. Then, blinking, he laid eyes on the person Saboo was leading by their bound hands, a sack over their head.

They stopped in the middle of the clearing. Saboo bowed deeply.

"The human, sire," he said needlessly. He was _such_ a suck-up.

"Very good. Remove the sack."

Saboo did so.

There was silence.

More silence.

Tony Harrison began to laugh.

"Saboo!" Dennis bellowed, making the sleeping councilpersons jerk back to reality. Tony moaned a protest in chorus with his own aching head, but he ignored both of them. "What is the meaning of this?!"

The human attempted to speak, but the duct tape over his mouth reduced it to angry mumbling. Saboo interrupted him.

"Head Shaman, I did as you asked. You wanted me to bring you the human, I did."

"Saboo, you twonk," Tony cried excitably. "That's the wrong human!"

* * *

"Vince?" Howard called, poking his head around the door to the supply closet. There was no sign of him so he turned back to the shop. "Vince? I give up now!"

He had been systematically searching the flat for the last half hour, convinced this was another of Vince's 'surprise hide-and-seek' games. The main principle of the game was that Howard would never know if he was playing or not. Usually, these occurred in the mornings, right before the shop was about to open. Or at lunch, right before the shop was about to re-open. Or in the evening, right before the shop was about to re-re-open for the midnight clientèle. Usually, he was easy to find (apart from that one time he used Naboo's potions to shrink himself and hid in a vase on the fireplace) but this time there was no sign of him.

"Come on now, Vince, this isn't funny any more! Vince!"

"What's all the shouting about?"

The voice of the tiny shaman startled Howard, who dropped the lamp he had been peering under. It smashed on the floor.

"Oi! Watch it! That's coming out of your wages."

"You don't pay me any wages. Actually, I've been meaning to talk to you about that. I think-"

"We'll talk about it later, yeah? Have you seen Vince?"

"No, I was just looking for him."

Naboo frowned. "When did you last see him?"

"This morning. He was in bed. I went to make a cup of tea and when I got back, he was gone."

"You left him alone?!" Naboo cried, throwing his arms up exasperatedly. It was the most emotion Howard had ever seen him show.

"Of course I left him alone!" he defended. "I don't spend every waking minute with him, you know!"

"Well, you should!" Making a visible effort to calm down, the shaman drew a piece of paper from his robes. "Look at this."

Howard took it and read silently:

_hueman,_

_we r goin 2 kidnap u. b prupaired. we r cumin munday 9 in da mornin._

_p.s i fink so aniway, dere is a tiyme difrence beetween were u r and were i am._

_p.s agen. i no its an outrage soz_

"But it's Tuesday," Howard said once he had struggled through the frankly atrocious spelling and grammar. A terrible urge had seized him and his hand itched toward the red pen on the counter. It was the pen he used to correct anything and everything Vince wrote down. On one occasion, he had used it on his iPhone, highlighting the errors in a text message he had sent to Leroy. Vince hadn't been pleased at the scratches left on his screen after the colour had wiped off, but as Howard had argued, nobody with auto-correct could possibly spell that badly.

"Howard?" Naboo prompted.

The man in question blinked. He had been staring at the pen, one hand stretched out to take it.

"Hmm?" he muttered, dazed.

"You're drooling."

"Oh, right." With the outstretched hand, he wiped his chin, then focused on the shaman once more. "So you think whoever wrote this note has got him?"

Naboo's expression clouded. "I know they have," he said darkly. "And what's more, I know who wrote it."

* * *

**So, yeah... Story. I have a vague idea where this is going, but at this point, not much more than you, dear reader. Still, I have the second chapter so that shall be uploaded now! Well, why not kick off with a double update, eh?**

**I'm relatively new to this, so any feedback is welcome, thanks :).**


	2. Chapter 2

**Not much more to say, really. Enjoy :).**

**Oh, wait, Nair is a brand of hair removal cream, if you weren't aware of that already.**

* * *

Dennis was growing tired of Saboo's excuses.

"I knew I should have asked Naboo to help us," he said, cutting him off.

"Look, what do you want me to do?" Saboo asked agitatedly. "You asked me to get the human we sent the note to. That's this one. Can I help it if they all look the same to me?"

The human squawked something behind the duct tape. Dennis wearily motioned Saboo to remove it, hoping whatever the man wanted to say would be helpful. The shaman did so.

"Ow! Watch it!" the human cried as it was ripped away. Then, the pain immediately forgotten, he rounded on Saboo. "What d'you mean we all look the same? I'm unique, stylish! You've never seen anyone like me!"

He glanced down at his attire- a t-shirt and pants.

"Well, maybe not at the moment, but just you wait until I get dressed! I've got a bright orange shirt lined up for today, and there's these sequins on the sleeves, right? All red and yellow, like fire. Once, when I was wearing it-"

"Silence, human!" Dennis cried. The human turned to him, all animosity melting from his features as he laughed.

"Yeah, sorry, Howard says I talk too much when I've just woken up. He says I must be getting in all the words I can't say when I'm asleep. But he says I talk in my sleep as well, so-"

"I can gag him again, sire," Saboo offered. Dennis raised his eyebrows at the man, who gave a nervous laugh, running his tongue over his lips.

"I think I'll just be quiet." A pause. Then, "Has anyone got some Lypsyl?"

"What?" Dennis asked, against his better judgement.

"It's lip balm? Y'know? Comes in a stick. There's loads of different flavours!" The passion with which he spoke of lip balm was astounding. "My favourite's the cherry, but I don't mind the strawberry if that's all you've got. If it's vanilla, you can forget it- tastes like sick." For a moment, he was quiet, a look of disgust on his face as he appeared lost in thought. Then, with alarming suddenness, he looked back at Dennis and fixed him with a grin. "But yeah, if you've got any that'd be genius. Happy Sack over there," he inclined his head towards Saboo, "ripped half my skin off with his fuckin' tape."

"Saboo?" Dennis prompted wearily. The shaman pulled a roll of silver tape from his robes. The man took a step away.

"No! I can be quiet, I swear." With a great effort, he pressed his lips together. A moment passed before he grinned. "See?"

* * *

Howard sat behind the counter, meticulously correcting the note. Naboo had gone upstairs to make some calls on his crystal ball. It was a matter of urgency, he had said, and then resolutely refused to tell Howard exactly what was happening. Personally, Howard wasn't too worried. Whoever had kidnapped Vince would surely bring him back. After all, they were encountering him first thing after he'd woken. His idle chatter would drive them insane before they could even begin whatever nefarious things they had planned.

The silence was a relief. Ordinarily, Vince would be up by now, making a cup of tea in the noisiest manner possible, shouting inane things to Howard down the stairs. Then he'd bring it down and proceed to, quite literally, talk Howard's ears off; once, they'd dropped from his head and taken refuge in the sleeve of one of his jazz records. Naboo had to reattach them, but he took his sweet time, leaving Howard ear-less and deaf for the next week. It was only once the shaman figured out he was enjoying the quiet that he finally worked his magic.

He used to think Vince did it on purpose to annoy him, but there had been that one time he had been at a doctor's appointment (his moustache hair had been falling out) and when he returned, he found Vince doing the same with Naboo. So maybe it wasn't his life's mission to annoy Howard. Maybe it was his mission to annoy _everyone_. Then again, it turned out Vince had been smearing Nair on his face in the night, so he was certainly very dedicated to annoying the hell out of him, one way or another.

The sheer amount of times he had just thought the word 'annoy' was beginning to annoy him, so Howard set the pen down, finally finished, and surveyed the now-masterpiece of a note before him. Then he closed up and set off to make a congratulatory cup of tea, wondering what was happening to Vince at that very moment.

* * *

'At that very moment', Vince was biting down on his stinging lips, fighting very hard to hold back the words that threatened to burst from his mouth. Saboo was ranting furiously beside him.

"...And whose responsibility was it to send that note? That's right, the ball-man himself, Tony Harrison!"

"Alright, I'll admit it- I sent the note to the wrong guy. But Saboo's right, they all look alike!"

Dennis inclined his head with the delicate movements Vince attributed to a hangover. This image was helped greatly by the shaman in various states of sickness around him. Or maybe they all had the flu, Vince thought, eyeing the green witch, who was heaving into a bucket.

"Very well, Saboo. You may take your place with the council."

Saboo bowed low. "Thank you, sire."

"Suck-up," Vince muttered, then caught himself, glancing worriedly at Dennis. The Head Shaman said nothing, but he thought he might have caught the flicker of a smirk before he turned and addressed Tony.

"As for you, Tony Harrison," he said gravely, "I shall deal with you later."

For once, Tony was silent. Vince wondered what 'dealing with him' entailed.

"Human," Dennis spoke again. "Step forward."

Vince stepped forward, taking this to mean he was permitted to speak again. "I've got a name, y'know."

"Yes," the Head Shaman said, regarding him thoughtfully. "Vince Noir. The toast of Camden."

"Toast? Is that what this is about? 'Cause I told Naboo I'd hoover those crumbs up eventually. He didn't have to get Bollo to do it! In fact, I said to him, 'don't make Bollo do it, that's not fair,' and he said-" here, he put on a lisping imitation of the tiny shaman's voice "-'what's the point of having a familiar if you can't get him to do the housework?'. And then he said I wasn't going to do it anyway, I was too busy fixing my hair all the time, and I wasn't pulling my weight with the shop either, and then he called me a name and I got annoyed and told him to shove the shop, and then Howard came in-"

He had almost forgotten where he was, lost as he was in recounting the beginnings of an argument that had culminated in Naboo kicking them out. He had let them back in though, in the end. He always did. Naboo was a real mate, he thought, grinning as he spoke.

"This is all beside the point," Dennis interrupted exasperatedly. "Although I must say, this information regarding Naboo's treatment of his familiar is interesting."

Vince bit down on his lip again. He hadn't meant to drop Naboo in it. He couldn't help himself. He would run out of steam soon, find he had less to say, but for the moment he needed to get the chattiness out of his system.

"Yeah, listen," he said, trying to change the subject, "if this isn't about toast, then what is it? I've got things to do, y'know. I haven't even done my hair yet." At this, he fluffed it self-consciously, although he was somewhat hindered by his bound wrists.

"Well, I was hoping for your jazz-loving friend, but I suppose you will have to do."

"Howard? What d'you want him for?" Vince was thrown. No one had ever wanted Howard over him.

"We have a problem, and we need a human to resolve it."

"Then I'm your man," Vince said confidently. "I've got style... Usually. Substance... Well, _some _substance... And my hair's great... Except, not right now..." he trailed off, realising his best attributes were somewhat compromised at that moment. "Anyway, I look better than Howard, even in my pyjamas and bed-head!"

"I don't know," said Dennis thoughtfully. "He has a kind of moustachioed charm."

Vince scoffed. "He's a fashion nightmare. It's me you want."

Then, something crossed his mind.

"I mean, unless your problem isn't fashion-related."

"It is not."

"Ah." He considered. "Well, I could have a go anyway, as long as it doesn't involve any deep thinking."

"It will."

"Um... Okay, well, I suppose I've never really tried thinking before. It might be fun."

"It isn't."

"Riiiiiiiight." Vince shifted his weight, wishing his hands were free to place them on his hips. "Never mind, I bet I can help you out anyway. Unless," here, he couldn't resist laughing, "it has anything to do with jazz."

"Here's the thing," said Dennis carefully. "It has _everything_ to do with jazz."

Vince was silent for a long time.

"...Yeah," he said at last, "you're gonna need Howard."

* * *

**Ah, in the few minutes it took to post this, ideas have occurred. So now I'm more clued in! Hooray!**

**Also, I know nothing about jazz. This is risky business. I'm playing with fire here.**

**Please review!**


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